Bittersweet
by AJ Archer
Summary: Sirius remembers all the first times... memories so sweet, so tender, so painful, so miserable that even a Dementor can't touch them. Would be fluff if it wasn't agony. Slash, SiriusRemus.


I remember the first time it happened. Quidditch pitch, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, third row from the top of the stands, at exactly 8:53 a.m. Mark Grenville had just caught the Snitch. The whole red-and-gold crowd went wild, screaming and hugging and shouting insults toward the Slytherin side. And I realised that I was hugging someone too, a someone with thick light brown hair and strong arms. You looked up at me, Remus, with more joy in your eyes than I'd ever seen there.

I remember the first time it happened. We were all getting ready for bed and for the first time you didn't hide behind your bed hangings. James, Peter and I saw the scars clear as day all over your arms and shoulders, shiny lines on your skin. You tried to play them down. I'd never felt worse when I thought of all the times I'd whinged about my life while you silently accepted yours with no more than a soft, sad smile.

I remember the first time it happened. As a black dog I watched your body contort, heard your voice in agony, learned your scent as a wolf. We all roamed the Forest that night, Peter clinging to James as best as he could. I liked the sound of your howl at the glowing full moon so much I tried it, too. You teased me about it the next day.

I remember the first time it happened. We chased a rabbit. You managed to catch it and we shared it, tussling like, well, puppies over the meat. You licked rabbit blood off my nose. I returned the favour when you got ice cream on your chin a week later. You didn't even blink twice.

I remember the first time it happened. We were having a sleepover at Jamie's place and you asked why all of my things were there. Running away from home hadn't really bothered me; I'd been meaning to do it since I got to Hogwarts. But when Jamie told you, you were horrified. I think it was because your parents were so gentle. That they hadn't abandoned you after you were bitten had meant worlds to you, I know. So many would have. We were all in our pyjamas and your skin was warm against mine when you hugged me.

I remember the first time it happened. I woke up as Padfoot with you after a full moon. We must have fallen asleep together, wolf and dog. I changed back and held you for a long time, hoping you would stay asleep. I knew you were exhausted. You were almost panting in your sleep. When Jamie and Pete found us, they helped me carry you up to Gryffindor Tower. I wanted to sleep in your bed, too.

I remember the first time it happened. We had stolen a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey and were passing it around the dormitory, laughing drunkenly. Jamie was half-asleep, and Pete was talking loudly, something about a girl in Ravenclaw. I looked up and you crashed into me. We laughed and laughed about it. And suddenly your face was so close, and your mouth red from the alcohol, and then I only remember you tasted like Firewhiskey and blood.

I remember the first time it happened. Seventh year. Pete had gone out, probably to the kitchens is what I had thought, and Jamie was romancing his Lily. We had the whole tower to ourselves. And Merlin, did we need it. You were so shy. I wasn't that much better, but you'd known that I always said I'd done more than I had. It was laughing and curious and hungry, that first time. And it only got better.

I remember the last time. You kissed me goodbye that morning before I left for the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. You were still half-asleep and promised me you'd be in soon, you just needed another hour. I smiled and touched your hair and you smiled back sleepily. Beautiful and tousled, you lay there in my bed. I captured that picture and set it deep into my heart, into the depths of my memory where it would stay forever.

Sirius Black curled up a little smaller inside the cell as the Dementor glided by, chilling the air. It stopped, sensing the warmth of a beloved memory- but a bittersweet one. That being the case, the Dementor had no idea what to do with it. It turned back and continued on its rounds.

Author's Notes: As this is most likely my OTP, I should've written it a long time ago... I kept trying, but never stuck with it. It's about time.  
(Whinged is a word, by the way.)


End file.
